


Devious

by JoMarch



Category: The West Wing
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-02
Updated: 2014-06-02
Packaged: 2018-02-03 05:17:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,208
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1732538
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JoMarch/pseuds/JoMarch
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There are worse things than waking up with Josh Lyman. Sequel to my story "Just Desserts."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Devious

**Author's Note:**

> Spoilers: None.
> 
> Disclaimer: They're not mine, but look at how much more fun they'd be having if they were.
> 
> Thanks: as always, to Ryo, for her constant encouragement. Also to Morgan, for her constant stalking.

"Morning," Josh says.

Yes, it certainly is. It is most definitely morning.

Morning should go away. Afternoon suits me better. Late afternoon. Night even. But, no, it has to be morning. There's light streaming in from Josh's bedroom window -- note to self: Josh needs new window blinds -- and my boss is leaning over on his side, staring down at my poor, prone, sleep-deprived self.

"You woke me up," I mutter.

"I did not." He's smiling. Not smirking, mind you. Flat-out smiling. God, he's gorgeous. Did I mention that he's naked? And very happy to see me, if you get my drift.

"You stared at me until I woke up; admit it."

"I may have been looking in your general direction," he says. This is what politicians refer to as a "non-denial denial." He's the one who taught me about it, so I don't know why he expects it will fool me. Maybe he doesn't; maybe it's force of habit. He's been in politics for so long that he can no longer answer with a simple yes or no. "That does not, however, indicate that my purpose was getting you to wake up."

"Why else would you be staring?"

"Donna, you're naked. I'm a man. I really don't need any other reason."

Fair point.

So fair, in fact, that I take this opportunity to stare right back at him.

He just gets happier and happier to see me.

There are worse ways to spend the morning. Still, we have entered a new phase in our relationship, and I have to be careful not to surrender all the power. So I pout.

"What time is it anyway?" I ask. Josh turns around to look at the clock on the nightstand, and I get a long look at his back. Josh has a lovely back. It's all smooth and his muscles kind of ripple; and when you glance down further, there's what I promise you is the most incredible ass any woman has ever put her hands on.

I resist the urge to reach out and touch. It's his fault that I got virtually no sleep last night, and I can maintain a position of relative power by being tired and grumpy. I'm thinking that grabbing his ass might cost me my psychological advantage.

Sometimes I am amazed by my own will power.

He turns back around and, dear lord, the view from the front is awe-inspiring too.

"7 a.m.," he says.

"We were awake at 4 a.m.," I point out.

"Were we?"

"I remember looking at the clock."

"At the clock?"

"It was just before you did that thing you said you'd only read about."

"You seemed to enjoy that, as I recall."

"It was pleasant."

"Pleasant?" He does this rather unflattering imitation of me. "'Joshua, Joshua, my god, Joshua.' That sounded like more than 'my, what a pleasant experience.'"

"That is completely not the point."

"Not having to wait in line at the bank -- that's a pleasant experience. This, on the other hand--"

"Fine. The earth moved, I admit it."

"As long as we're clear on that."

"I do have a point to make here, Josh."

"And your point is...?"

"That was three hours ago."

He pulls me into his arms. "True. Three hours is far too long ago."

It's not easy being all snarky at a time like this. There's much to be said for touching Josh first thing in the morning. His skin's all warm and smooth, except for the very nice contrast caused by early morning, pre-shaving stubble. Plus he's decided to start playing with my breasts, and that's pleasantly distracting. Still, I need to make my point.

"Following the four o'clock thing--"

"I love when you talk dirty, Donna."

The look I give him shuts him up. Momentarily. "Following the thing," I repeat, "there was talking."

"I recall." He has the most adorable smile, he really does. "It was a good talk."

"It really was." I'm smiling like an idiot myself. But it was quite the nice conversation -- very intimate and serious and with foreplay. Josh enjoys the foreplay.

"We don't talk enough," he says.

This strikes me as the funniest thing I've ever heard, and I spend the next five minutes laughing.

"You were making a point about the talking?" he asks, sounding, I might add, slightly offended.

"My point is that, between the sex and the talking, there was little sleeping. I remember seeing the sun rise this morning, Josh. It was the last thing I thought before I fell asleep. I thought, 'Oh, look, it's dawn already,' and then I fell asleep. So I got maybe two hours of sleep tops."

"That was more than I got."

"How much sleep did you get?"

"Pretty much none."

"None?"

"Did I mention that I'm a guy and there's a beautiful naked woman in my bed?"

"Josh, you need your sleep."

"Considering the amount of time I have spent unconscious during the last three months, I'm thinking I'm pretty much caught up on the sleeping thing."

This is why he needs me. This right here. This mistaken belief he has that the great Joshua Lyman is not plagued with those little imperfections that lesser men must deal with, such as the need for sleep. Never mind that less than three months ago, the man was in intensive care. Sleep is a minor inconvenience, and he can't be bothered with it.

My mother had a foolproof technique when Frances and I wouldn't sleep. Worked every time. What you do is that you just keep stroking the child's back. It works. Honestly. Now that Frances has kids of her own, she swears by it.

"Donna?"

"Yes, Josh?" I'm going for a soft, soothing tone here. It always worked for my mother.

"Whatcha doin'?" He, on the other hand, has this whole teasing tone going that I'm fairly certain doesn't work into the soothing dynamic I'm going for.

"I'm trying to lull you to sleep."

"Okay. For future reference," he laughs, "boy, are you ever doing the wrong thing."

"How so?"

"If you'll lower your gaze--"

"I've noticed that already, Josh."

"So you can understand how sleeping is not my top priority at the moment?"

"You need sleep more than you need sex."

Being Josh, he's determined to prove me wrong about that. He goes back to playing with my breasts in a manner we'd earlier established was extremely gratifying.

Extremely.

And this is followed by several minutes of kissing. Here's something I've discovered about kissing Josh -- it's never boring. Right, I know -- duh. But let's face it: Most men have a certain kissing technique. There's the type who views kissing as an act of aggression; the infamous Dr. Free Ride was one of those. The technique, such as it was, involved very fast, deep kisses where he basically plundered my mouth. I used to swear he was searching for gold fillings. And the less involvement from you, the better. He's running the show; you're just there because he has to put his tongue somewhere.

Then there are the types who err in the opposite direction -- if anything, their kisses are too gentle. The whole tentative, hesitant thing can be kind of a turn-on for the first five seconds. After that, I want a man to make a commitment, you know?

Some men are more inventive, but they still develop a specific routine. I used to date this one guy whose technique was as follows -- a hesitant kiss on the corner of the mouth, followed by moving down to nip at your neck, moving back up for a passionate open-mouthed kiss. Kind of erotic the first few times, but then it got monotonous. I mean, there was never any variation in the technique. You could even time the number of seconds he would spend on each move -- two seconds for the first kiss, six seconds on the neck, fifteen seconds on the second kiss.

When a man is kissing you and you're counting the seconds until he moves on to the next thing, something is wrong.

But Josh -- dear lord! I am becoming something of an expert on the subject of kissing Josh Lyman, and no two kisses have been alike so far. Sometimes it's the gentle type of kiss -- just a feather-light touch. Other times, it's deep and passionate and downright possessive. Some kisses have moved to my throat and eventually my breasts; others have gone lower still. Many kisses center only on the mouth, although he also seems to have a fondness for my forehead. For awhile he was way too fixated on a certain spot behind my ear after he discovered how sensitive I am there.

So Josh is a great believer in variety in kissing. The only thing all his kisses have in common is that each and every one encourages, if not downright begs for, my co-operation.

This morning's kiss is of the passionate variety. Very deep, his tongue kind of dancing around with mine. I'm especially fond of this type of kiss. It reminds me of bantering, but without the words.

"See how much more fun this is than sleeping?" he asks.

"Josh, shut up and go back to the kissing."

Now I'm not conceding defeat, mind you. I'm merely changing my tactics. I'm still going to lull him to sleep; I'm just going to use sex to achieve my goal.

I'm devious that way.

We have a few more minutes of kissing before Josh gets characteristically impatient and moves down to my breasts.

He's doing this thing where he takes one nipple between his teeth and pulls on it very gently. The damn thing's already hard and I'm arching toward him because I really need to feel his tongue there. He seems to find this amusing.

"You're a heartless tease, Joshua Lyman."

He stops what he's doing and grins up at me. "Look who's talking," he says.

"How, pray tell, am I teasing?"

"That thing you're doing with your hands--"

"It's called touching."

"Move down about two inches, and I'll call it heaven on earth."

"Anything to oblige." I move my hands slowly down his body until I reach his erection. I run one hand very gently over the shaft and spend some time rolling his balls in my other hand. As good as touching him feels, it's nothing compared to watching him right now. He has this expression of complete joy and wonder.

I do believe the man loves me almost as much as I love him.

I'm kissing Josh again because, really, how can you not kiss a man who looks at you like that?

"Okay, my turn," he says as he breaks off the latest round of kissing. He leans over me and starts kissing his way down my body. It's difficult to concentrate on the fact that I have a plan to lull him to sleep. If I don't stop him before he reaches his obvious destination, I won't be capable of coherent thought. So I force myself to say his name.

He's dipping his tongue in and out of my navel by the time the third, very insistent "Josh" gets his attention.

"Yes?" He sounds way too amused. Also over-confident. I am so going to use this against him.

"I need you, Josh. Right now."

"Getting there." His face disappears into the mass of curls below my stomach.

Can't have that.

"Josh, no. That's not what I want."

He looks back up. "Of course it is."

"No. It's not."

"I had the impression that this was your favorite activity."

"Usually. Not this morning. This morning--" How to put this in a way that will help me reach my objective?-- "This morning I just want to feel you inside me."

"Again with the talking dirty."

"Josh, if you want to get laid this morning, you'll stop with the jokes."

"No jokes. None whatsoever. No sense of humor here. Nope, not me. Completely serious."

"Josh, you're killing the mood."

There's that smile again. "Can't have that."

He moves back up my body until he's hovering over me. I can tell from the way he's holding me that he intends to flip us around so that I'm on top. Generally, I'd be in favor of this plan; but, as I've said, I'm being devious . So I put a hand on his chest to stop him. "No," I tell him. "This is good."

"This is much better than good," he says, kissing me again.

I gasp when he enters me. He's completely still when he asks, "Are you okay? Should I maybe--"

"I'm fine. This is perfect, Josh." Okay, I'm working on my plan, but I'm not lying. He does feel so good; and when I look down and see our bodies joined this intimately, the sight alone is almost enough to make me come.

Almost.

The plan does not call for Donnatella Moss settling for "almost." I take his hand and guide it to my clit. We're relatively new at this, but he's already learned the way I like to be touched. In fact, he's demonstrated a few things I hadn't tried before that have proved quite pleasurable. He moves his fingers back and forth, and I raise my hips to get more. He's withdrawing from me now, and I moan in disappointment until he's back thrusting inside me.

"More," I tell him.

"So insatiable," he says, kissing my cheek.

Plan. I have a plan. Have to remember the plan.

"Faster, Josh."

"Really?"

"Yes, really. Faster. Harder is good too. Deeper wouldn't hurt."

"I don't want to hurt you."

"I'm not fragile, Josh. I won't break."

What follows is frantic, passionate and very, very energetic. Josh comes first, his eyes never leaving my face for a moment. I feel him spilling inside me, and I put my hand on his shoulder to pull him closer. After a moment, he kisses me again and moves his fingers in these intense circles that just grow smaller and smaller. I'm extremely conflicted here . On the one hand, I want this moment to go on forever. On the other hand, I want to get that place where Josh brings me the most pleasure I've ever experienced. And then I'm there, and the physical pleasure only heightens my awareness of that incredible smile on Josh's face.

When Josh withdraws from me, I moan again.

"Enjoyed that, did you?" Josh asks, his usual smirk back in place.

"Very much so, yes. And stay where you are," I tell him when he starts to move off me.

"Donna, I appreciate your confidence in me, but it's going to be awhile before I'm ready for a repeat performance."

"Is that so?" I hug him because -- well, because I want to -- before I let him go. He flops onto his back beside me.

"Sadly, yes." He's having trouble keeping his eyes open, I can tell. "I'm kind of tired actually."

"Wore you out, did I?"

"Don't flatter yourself." He nestles his head against my neck. He sighs, and his breath tickles my neck.

"Sleepy?" I ask.

"No," he mutters, "not sleepy. Not at all." Thirty seconds later, he's fast asleep.

He doesn't wake up again until noon.

What can I say? When Donnatella Moss decides on a course of action, it works.

And he's awfully cute when he sleeps. 

*** 

"Devious woman."

He's also cute when he wakes up. All rumpled with his eyelids only half open. Plus he's grumpy.

Is it a bad sign that I find grumpy Josh sexy?

"I'm not devious. Witty, beautiful, accomplished -- I played flute in high school; did you know that? -- brilliant. Devious, not so much."

"You knew I'd fall asleep. You encouraged that, knowing I'd fall asleep."

"Did you enjoy that?"

"Yes, but--"

"Do you feel rested?"

"Yes. However--"

"Then stop complaining and kiss me."

He looks at me skeptically. "You expect to be rewarded for this behavior?"

"Frankly, yes."

"I don't think so."

Throwing my arms around him, I whisper into his ear, "Reward me, Josh."

The next thing I know he's moving slowly down my body.

I'm especially fond of this kind of reward.

He starts by placing an openmouthed kiss on my sex, his hands moving lightly over my thighs. Then his tongue is inside me, licking the sides before he moves toward my center. The closer he gets to my clit, the slower he moves, and I'm already moaning and pushing his head deeper into me. Apparently, Josh finds this amusing; I can hear him laughing, and his breath kind of tickles. It's impossible to stay still when he does this, so I'm squirming around beneath him. He moves his hands to my hips to still me and flicks his tongue against my clit a few times. I'm repeating his name like a mantra. I come in a matter of seconds, mesmerized by the sight of Josh making love to me this way.

I swear I'm still shaking from the incredibly intense orgasm when Josh moves back up beside me and pulls me into his arms. I'm thinking to myself that I would do absolutely anything for this man, and that's something I should probably never tell him. That sort of admission could lead to dangerous consequences; a woman could end up having to work twenty-hour days after admitting something like that.

Oh, wait.

Never mind.

"Donna? If I asked you to do something for me, would you?"

What does the man do -- read my mind?

"Define something."

"Something fun." He nibbles at my neck for a second.

"I'm with you so far."

"Something enjoyable." His hand covers my breast, his thumb flicking against my nipple.

"I'm in favor of enjoyment."

"Something that would bring us both great pleasure." He places a quick kiss on my mouth.

"Pleasure is good." And if it would bring us both pleasure, we're not talking about my bringing him coffee.

What? You can never be too careful with this man.

"So you'll do it?" His hand is moving back down to my hip. Frankly, at this point, I'd go to Columbia and collect the damn coffee beans myself if he wanted.

"Yes."

"Great." He jumps out of bed, grabs my hand and pulls me into a sitting position. "We're going to Starbucks," he announces.

Dammit. I knew coffee would be involved.

"We're what?"

"We're going to Starbucks. Lattes? Mocking Republicans? Remember. I'm finally, finally getting out of this place!"

"Wait," I say, following him out of the bedroom. "You did that just to get me to agree to let you go to Starbucks?"

He kisses me again. He's so damn excited about his excursion into the great outdoors that he's beaming. It would be awfully cute if I didn't feel so manipulated.

"Worked, didn't it?" he asks.

"Devious man," I mutter.

I should be upset. I mean, I swear the man is every bit as excited about getting to spend an hour at Starbucks as he is about making love to me. I really should be offended.

But he's so damn cute. He's happy and he's alive and he's cute.

And besides, I'll find a way to make him pay tonight.

This could be fun.

THE END

07.23.01


End file.
